


Into the Dark

by skyjoos



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Hollanders - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Ambiguous Age, Anal Play, BDSM, Beating, Begging, Blood, Bondage, Bottom Tom Holland, Brutal, Caning, Crossdressing, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Diapers, Electrocution, Femdom, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Master/Slave, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Original Character(s), Piss, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Throat Fucking, Torture, Underage - Freeform, Watersports, but not really underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-08 09:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21473812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjoos/pseuds/skyjoos
Summary: This is a collection of incredibly dark drabbles of hurt!Tom Holland. If whumps make you uncomfortable, this fic will not be for you. All of this will be highly explicit content. Please read at your own risk.Based off of my other series of hurt!Peter Parker, 'Darkness Lives Here.'Taking suggestions!
Relationships: Tom Holland/Original Female Character(s), Tom Holland/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	1. Feminized!Tom

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER 1: Non-con, piercings, watersports, blood.

Tom’s chest is killing him. It’s caved in, unnaturally curved like that of a girl’s. The corset digs so deep it hurts to breathe, to move even. Every breath is hitched. Every movement is curt. He can’t stand to look at himself in the full-bodied mirror in the corner of the room. The room he’s been held captive in for … weeks, now? Maybe a full month. Tom’s stomach turns at the thought of being kept in this dungeon for a full month. He turns away, walking in short steps towards the torn and ragged mattress they call a bed. A bed’s not a bed without a springbox, headboard, or even metal bars to keep it off of the ground. But it’s the best Tom’s got, and he knows it’s the best he’ll be getting.

He sits on the tattered mattress and accidentally catches a glance of himself in the mirror from across the room. His hair has grown out some since he was forced into this hell. It’s long enough that he has to tuck the curls behind his ear to get them out of his face. It’s not quite at shoulder length yet, with the hair only reaching the bottom of his neck. But Tom knows it’s just a matter of time until it reaches that point. His body is dressed in a light pink corset with a matching dress to accompany the bottom half of the outfit. It’s frilly and puffy and is the only clean item in this dungeon-esque room. Tom grimaces at his reflection and shoves his face into his hands, not wanting to see the makeup he’s been forced to put on next.

A full month, maybe even more, of being forced to not only look but also behave like a girl. Humiliation. It's all humiliating for Tom. It’s Hell. He can’t stand the sight of himself anymore. Not when day after day he’s forced to wear dresses and makeup until the person looking back at him resembles a little girl. 

There’s a sharp sound from beyond the metal door separating Tom from the world. He instinctively flinches, he knows one of them are coming in. He quickly stands up and smoothes out of the dress before turning to face the door. When it opens he’s greeted by both women. Two girls roughly his age, maybe a little younger, walk through the cellar door. He doesn’t know them by name, just by the nicknames - or rather codenames - the two gave each other, Dee and Nee. The names are hardly ever said though as most of the time when they’re together it’s to indulge in torturing or raping him. Tom puts on his best smile, years of professional acting haven’t failed him yet. Despite his best efforts, his smile falters and he whimpers into the humiliating phrase.

“G-Good morning, Miss. I-I … I’ve been a good girl last night,” whimpers Tom.

The two girls step into the room further, Dee closing the door behind them. Tom knows he’s either about to be punished or raped. Both are punishments, but the girls’ refer to the latter as a treat. Despite Tom screaming and begging them to stop every time they rape him with large strap on’s, dildos, and other various sex toys Tom had never even heard before being forced into this fucked up life. 

Tom resists the urge to run or scream or hit them. He knows better now. All rebellion gets him is raped and tortured, rinse and repeat. He doesn’t want to contribute to the already growing pain on his side from the other day when he refused to swallow his own cum which resulted in a harsh kick from Nee. He keeps his head down while one of the girls speaks.

“You’re right, Tommy. In fact, you’ve been a very good girl for us.”

“Look, he even dressed himself for us. Did a little makeup, too, huh? It’s sweet, isn’t it?”

Tom doesn’t look up. Doesn’t care who’s saying what or who’s about to do what. He just knows one of them will end the praise and start the beating. Or the raping. His side still hurts so in this terrible scenario, he hopes he’s raped and not beaten today. 

Tom swallows his pride and says what he knows the girls expect. “T-Thank you, Mistresses.”

“We’re here to give you a treat, baby,” says Dee.

Tom winces. He’s going to be raped. Out of all the days he hopes he’s fucked and not hit, this has to be the day where it actually happens. Tom nods and kneels on the floor, readying himself for one of the girls to push him back onto the mattress and start raping his asshole. But instead, he’s met with chuckling from the women above him.

“Oh, Tom. We’re not here to make love, we have a present for you. Here, close your eyes,” says Nee as she too kneels before Tom.

Tom does as he’s told and awaits something to hit him over the head or a blade to pierce his skin. But instead, he feels the girl wrap something around his neck and pull back. He hears the two laughing amongst themselves but he waits until he’s told to open his eyes. Dee says to look at himself in the mirror and he does. 

Tom wants to vomit.

On his neck is an unusually bulky, pink collar. He doesn’t have to squint to see the mockingly girlish italicized text reading ‘Princess’ on the collar’s width in darker pink ink. Tom quickly looks away, not wanting to see himself dolled up like a girl kneeling before the two people who have constantly raped and beaten him for weeks on end. 

“Aww, it looks so cute. But that’s not at all. We think a girl as pretty as you should have a proper name. What do you think?” Says Dee who smiles at the girl beside her.

“Of course she should. No girl has a name like Tom. We think Princess is much more fitting for our little girl.”

Tom’s eyes widen at the idea. He’s already been subjected through enough humiliation. What more could these freaks want? They want to take away his identity next. His legitimate gender and name. He can’t let this happen to him. 

“We think it’s a lovely name. What do you think, Princess?”

Tom shakes his head, his breath hitches as he hyperventilates in the corset. He looks up at the two girls, the women who’ve ruined his pride and self-esteem. He can’t let them have this over him, too. He starts to protest, to scream no and beg them not to change the only thing he can call his anymore. But pain rips through him. Striking pain that feels like he’s stepped on a live wire. Tom screams in pain and writhes on the floor, his back arches and his arms tense along with the rest of his muscles. He heaves in agony until the electricity ceases. 

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure out what kind of collar this is, hmm?” Mocks one of the girls.

Tom whines as he realizes the newly humiliating collar wrapped around him is a shock collar. The ones they use on dogs to train them not to piss in the house. He curls in on himself on the floor, pathetically whimpering as the aftershocks rake through his constricted body.

“We’ll leave you to get used to your new necklace, pet. Oh, and don’t try taking it off. If you think that shock was bad, wait until you’re shocked at the highest setting. But I don’t think it’ll come to that, will it, Princess?”

Tom shakes his head and lets the stray tears fall onto his face as he gives into the women’s wishes. “No, no, no. I-It won’t, Miss. I won’t touch it.”

“I hear a shock that intense can make a person piss themselves. I hope it’s true,” says Dee who erupts into a fit of laughter.

Both girls leave and lock the door behind them, leaving a whimper and crying Princess on the floor.

-

Tom doesn’t sleep. He hardly can anymore. Ever since his arrival here all he’s been able to do is scream and cry. He used to feel pathetic for doing it, mostly because the girls who have held him captive told him he was, but now he knows it's just pointless. Wherever these girls have him, it’s far from anyone who can help. Tom can’t count the number of times he’s tried to scream for help with no answer. 

He’s tried overpowering them, tried throwing punches at them. But it was no use, it was two against one. He was always pinned down and strangled or given some vegetative drug and thrown back on the tattered mattress. So, Tom’s given up. He knows now that escape isn’t happening, not anytime soon at least. He’ll have to wait for whoever to find him and save him.

But who’s looking? It was his fault for moving to L.A., away from his family, away from his only friends. He knew he’d be away from them often, he wanted to be left alone to focus on his career in America. It was obviously not going anywhere back in the U.K. But here in America he was Spider-Man, he was Hollywood’s next superstar. 

Until he went to that club. Until he got so drunk and let some random girl take him to his flat. It’s been over a month, it has to have been. His family have probably only just started looking for him. And he knows it could take months to find missing people. He cringes at the thought of being in this Hell any longer. The girls have already broken him down to nothing. He’s beyond damaged. He’s so out of focus his muscle mass has started to decline, which probably isn’t helped by the lack of proper nutrients he’s given.

He could be far away from L.A. for all he knows. He doesn’t remember the drive at all. They drugged him after driving for some time out of the city. He could be miles away from his flat, he could be in a completely different state. The terror of not knowing builds in Tom.

He gulps down the fear and pushes himself up from the floor after a while. It’s dark now, the main floodlights used to illuminate his cell are automatic, they’re set on timers that tell him when it’s time to sleep and when it’s not. He can’t see anything in the pitch blackness of the room, but he doesn’t need to. After spending a month in the same room, he knows exactly where everything just by memory alone. 

Tom’s neck aches from his uncomfortable position on the floor. He goes to rub at the ache when he feels the collar still tightly secured around his neck. He immediately flinches and brings his hand down. Didn’t the girls say that if he touched it it would shock him again? Tom didn’t feel any shock when he did. He tests out the limits of the collar, albeit timidly. He touches the same spot, no shocks. He touches the front, fingering the outlined title of ‘Princess,’ no shocks. He even grabs the back of the collar where he assumes the clasp is, no shocks.

Tom’s pissed. Of course they would lie to make him afraid. It’s worked for so long now, he almost doesn’t blame them. He brings both hands up to feel around the collar for the clasp to undo it. He carefully glides his fingers across the back of the collar and groans when he feels the small outline of a keyhole. 

Of course the collar would only be locked and unlocked by a key. He sighs and lets his hands collapse and fall into his lap. He tries not to cry at the small defeat but even the smallest of things make him cry now. He knows there’s no hope. No chance at getting out of here on his own. His captors mock him when he does, calls him pathetic, a bitch, a crybaby. The list has no real ending. 

Tom stifles his cries and thinks. Maybe there’s something in the room he could use to rip the damned thing off? Tom knows the room like the back of his hand, even in the midst of the darkness. There’s the full-bodied mirror in the corner, which he could technically break and use the glass shards to rip the collar but that would cause too much noise and he knows the girls have some hidden microphone in here on during the nights. He’s been forced out of bed multiple times back when he used to repeat things to keep him calm. Tom would try to repeat everything he knew about himself in order to remember it. The girls put a quick stop to that for weeks Tom had to sleep in a gag.

Tom tries thinking of the rest of his surroundings. There’s the mattress, nothing of use there. The sink that can only spray cold water, if Tom had any strength he could pry some pipe off the bottom but he knows he doesn’t have that anymore. Next to the sink is what remains of the toilet, just an empty pipe in the ground. Tom had his toilet privileges revoked when he tried using the seat as a weapon. He shivers thinking about how he has to beg to use the bathroom now, and his only way of doing so is going in a bucket the girls bring in. 

There’s no shower, the girls have to hose him down in the corner of the room when he’s earned one. So nothing on that side of the room can help him. One the other side is just a closet full of the most humiliating clothing Tom would never dream of wearing out in public. Tom thinks of anything else left. The only other object in the room is the small stool he uses when the girls dress him up. It’s a hemming stool, used for girls to stand on while their dresses are hemmed.

Tom knows there’s nothing else he can use. Maybe he can peel off a chunk of wood from the base of the stool and use that to cut the collar off? It’s worth a shot. He crawls over to the stool and carefully picks up the piece of furniture and puts it in his lap. He doesn’t care if the dirty legs of the stool mess up the dress he’s wearing, he just need to see if there’s a loose chunk of wood.

Tom runs his fingers along the stool and feels a small slit on the second leg. He forces his fingernails underneath the wood and tries prying the bark off. A loud splintering sound resounds in the small room. Tom’s breath hitches as he realizes he could be caught. He waits a moment before going back to work on the wooden piece. He peels slower than last time and after an agonizing minute, he finally peels one long, solid chunk of wood from the stool.

Tom’s so happy he could cry. Finally, something good has happened in the last month. He goes to bring the makeshift blade up to his throat to slash open the collar. He slides the wood underneath the collar to the best of his abilities and immediately starts trying to cut his way through it. He handles the wood like a saw, going back and forth to create friction. 

Light. Bright light surrounds him. The automatic lights turn on, the door to his dungeon is open. Dee walks in. Tom’s heart falls, his stomach flops to the bottom and his breath escapes him. He’s been caught. The first thing he can think of is shaking and crying. He knows he’s going to be punished, he’s going to be hurt again. 

Tom lets go of the wooden piece and lets it fall on his dress. He shoves the stool and wood from off him and hurriedly climbs to his knees to kneel. It’s the only way he knows how to please them, begging for forgiveness. And Tom’s so genuinely scared that he does. 

“I-I’m so-sorry  _ please  _ don’t hurt me! I-I di-di-didn’t mean it,  _ please  _ don’t hurt me. Please!”

He knows what to expect. He knows he won’t be let go. He knows everything he does is pointless. So he isn’t surprised to hear Dee laugh at his failure. 

“No fucking way! You can’t go  _ one _ day without misbehaving. Wait ‘till Nee sees this!” Dee laughs.

It’s a joke to her, of course it is. She’s not the one who’s about to get tortured for it. She’s not the one groveling on the floor begging for forgiveness from her kidnappers. She’s fine, she’s more than happy and okay. But Tom knows he’s going to be in so much pain.

It takes a few seconds but Nee joins the two in the cell. She looks around the room, as if unimpressed. When she asks what’s wrong and when Dee tells her, she too begins cackling. 

“Wow. You’ve had your collar on for … What? Like, two hours? And you’re already proving we can’t give you any more gifts. Do you have no common fucking decency? We gifted this collar to you. It was a  _ gift _ , you ungrateful bitch. And you tried ruining it,” spits Nee.

“I-I know, I’m  _ sorry,  _ please. I have n-no common decen-decency. I-I-I won’t do it again. I w-won’t,” begs Tom.

“You’re right, you won’t do it again.”

Tom stares in fear at the two women who own his entire life now. His entire wellbeing, his health, his life, all of it resides on these two malicious women’s shoulders. He knows begging would be pointless at this stage. They’ve made up their mind on his punishment, seemingly telepathically. 

“Go get the tools. I’ll stay here to make sure our little mutt doesn’t manage to rip her collar off with a piece of wood,” mocks Nee.

The two laugh at Tom’s strangled cry. He lets the tears run down his face and muddy his makeup. Nee makes some comment about him being a crybaby, but it’s nothing new to Tom. If was anywhere near as strong as he was a month ago, he could kill her right now. But he knows he doesn’t have that strength anymore. Physically and mentally.

Dee’s back with the tools in a few minutes. Tom doesn’t look over to see, he knows whatever they’ve decided on is final and no amount of begging will make it stop. Dee hands something to Nee behind her back. Nee palms the object for a moment and smiles. 

“Dee, why don’t you go first,” says Nee. “Since you’re the one who picked out the collar in the first place.”

Tom looks up at Dee, the shorter of the two. In the beginning, the two played a game of good cop, bad cop where Dee was the good cop. She treated Tom well when he behaved and referred him to Nee when he didn’t. When Dee was around, Tom made sure to save face. He was good, at least he tried to be. 

But now Dee’s good cop attitude is gone and replaced with anger. She steps closer to the kneeling man and reveals her own weapon. Tom immediately protests. In Dee’s hand is the cane, a long wooden stick used to hit his backside, usually his ass. She smirks at the look of fear on Tom’s face.

Before Tom can helplessly beg, Dee’s grabbing a fistful of his hair and forcing him up to his knees. He can feel Nee’s hands force him to undress, undoing the ribbons of the corset and lifting the dress off until he’s left naked. Dee’s hand comes back to grab his hair as she lands the first strike on his back.

Tom cries out, his tears already falling and slipping down to his neck and chest. Dee strikes places she’s already stricken before, made evident by the scars peppering Tom’s back and ass. Tom shouts with each swat delivered, each more forceful than the last. One the tenth strike, Dee speaks.

"You think you can just ruin the things we buy for you? What gives you the right to break that collar? I picked that out for you, I wanted you to feel pretty. But look where that left you.”

Tom cries. “I-I’m s-”

His pleads are stopped short by another forceful swat. This one lands right on the groove between his cheeks and his thighs. He screams at the pain on the tender area.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak, you fucking brat. Hold your tongue or I’ll rip it out,” demands Dee.

Tom listens to the order and stifles his cries as best as he can as Dee finishes her side of the punishment. She lands dozens of more swats before letting go of Tom’s hair and wandering off to the side of the room. He slumps forward from the exhaustion but is caught by Nee’s hand and flipped over so he’s lying on his now bloodied and welt-ridden back. Tom gives a small wrecked cry from the pain of lying on his tortured backside.

Nee chuckles at the scream and kneels down next to Tom. Dee soon joins, having discarded her cane. Tom tries lifting his head but he’s so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. He feels the two rub something across his chest but doesn’t watch. He’s forced back into consciousness when Dee tells him to open his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re going to want to miss this,” says Dee.

Before Tom can question it, he can feel something clamping down on his nipple. It’s not the first time the girls have played with that part of his body so he doesn’t question it until something directly stabs him. He screams as he feels something sharp pass through the skin of his pecs. He finally obeys Dee’s orders and looks down to see a needle going through the underside of his nipple and out of the opposite side.

They’re piercing his nipples. With no warning. Tom cries when he sees Nee lineup the clamp that holds the nipple in place on his other nipple. She quickly pushes the needle through it, too, causing another scream from Tom. When the clamps are finally removed, the piercing slides across the needle and forever pierced onto Tom.

“Look, Princess. Your piercings have little tiaras on the sides. Isn’t that pretty?” Mocks Nee.

Both needles are pulled out to reveal that one each nipple, Tom’s been pierced with small tiaras going through either side of his nipple. If he had more tears left from the night, he’d cry at the humiliation. Tom whines when Dee flicks one of the sensitive nipples, now forever hard from the metal underneath. 

“I think Princess has learned her lesson. What do you think, Nee?” Dee asks.

The girls eye the broken man beneath them for a moment. Nee finds herself playing with Tom’s sensitive nipples as well, running her fingers along the piercing and back again. Tom lets the women run their hands along his body until the two slowly move away from him. He’s about to ask why until they speak.

Nee sighs. “Well, she still has her collar on. Let’s give her a taste of what’s to come if she thinks of messing with her collar again.”

Tom doesn’t need to see Dee pulling the remote out of her pocket in order to know what’s about to happen. A wave of extreme heat rips through his body. Electricity shoots at his nerves on the highest setting on the collar. His body flails as the electrical current racks through his body, pulsing so intense Tom forgets to breathe. All he can do is scream. His nipples feel fried as if they might burn off. The pressure throughout his body forces him to release his bladder all over himself. Once he starts pissing, Dee stops the current and Tom’s left to urinate out the remainder of his piss, getting his entire abdomen and groin wet. 

The girls burst into hysterical laughter. Tom’s brain is so fried he can barely think straight. It’s not until he hears the cellar door opening does he understand what’s happened. He stares at himself helplessly, sweating, bloody, welting, pierced, and now covered urine. The automatic lights are suddenly turned back off. Tom tries speaking but the words don’t seem to form on his tongue. 

Dee and Nee shut the cellar door after another round of chuckling. Tom doesn’t even have the strength to pull himself to the mattress. He lays there, beaten and abused and as an absolute  _ failure  _ on his cell floor. 


	2. Electro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why did i write this.

There he is; bound, struggling, and whining on the basement floor. It didn’t take long for him to wake up. I walk over and kneel before the captive man below me. Such an easy catch. Typically celebrities are hard to isolate but this one was practically begging to be taken. I only did what was necessary: force him into my trunk, bind him, gag him, and take him here. He was knocked unconscious when we pulled into my garage and dragged down to the basement, where he will stay until he’s ready to be used. I graze my hand across his naked, sweating, tense body. He jolts at the sudden touch and whines before the dozen lays of tape I forced over his mouth as his gag. I give him a light slap on his inner thigh in return to silence him.

The electrodes look beautiful against his pale, toned body. They’re each glued to the main muscles of his body; his pecs, thighs, abs, glutes, and calves all covered in at least 2 of the small circular electrodes. His hands are still tied behind him and a blindfold still rests over his eyes. His ankles are tied together in a similar fashion that his wrists are. The bondage makes him aimlessly struggle and wiggle around on the dirty floor. It’s endearing, but now it’s time to get what I want.

He knows I’m in the room because of the touch. I run my fingers through his curly, sweaty hair and suddenly pull it back. The force makes him whine. Such a fucking whiner. I lean down to place my lips against his large ear and practically growl at him. The noise makes him tremble and the satisfaction of his fear sends chills throughout my body.

“Good morning, slave,” I say in a demeaning tone. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Tom Holland, the current Spider-Man actor, whines below me in protest. I watch as helplessly struggles against my firm grip on his hair. He sobs openly into his tape gag. I want to hear his screams, hear the desperation in his voice. So I travel my hand down his face to his lips and rip off the tape gag in one swift jerk. The sting caused him to whine. I bring my hand back to its position in his hair. I’m about to speak when he begins to scream.

“Help! Get off of me! You fuck-“

“Scream as loud as you want, no one will fucking hear you,” I snarl into his ear. “You’re mine for the foreseeable future. So shut the fuck up and listen, slave.”

He doesn’t return any protests, but the sneer on his mouth tells me he’s not used to being told what to do. I tighten my grip on his hair and bring my other hand to wrap around his throat.

“Right now there are about two dozen fucking electrodes on your body. Within a few seconds, your entire body will be electrified and in constant pain that will last for four hours or so. Could always be more if you don’t want to cooperate. But, don’t worry, slave. You won’t die or have any brain damage. The electrodes will only zap at whatever’s underneath. So, your muscles will be so fucking fried it’ll look like you haven’t picked up a weight a day in your life. Sound fun?”

“W-what? I-“

I tighten the hand around his neck and begin to choke him. His body convulses and struggles, the sight is more intoxicating than any drug.

“I know, right? But there are some ... side effects. Being electrified for several hours non-stop can be pretty taxing on the body. For instance, I expect you to piss yourself once or twice. There’s a few electrodes taped to your lower stomach and the zaps will probably cause you to empty your bladder. And I’m not a fucking pig and I like to keep my house clean, so you’ll be diapered throughout the process. I know, I know. Very thoughtful of me, huh?”

“What the f-fuck is wrong with you?” Tom manages to choke out.

I bite his ear lobe as a response. He whines and again tries wiggling away. The process makes me laugh as he desperately cries and tries to escape.

“I thought you’d be more considerate. I mean, would you rather sit in your piss for hours, and have the wetness heighten the electricity? If you did, it’s too late now. The diaper’s already on and I don’t have the patience to take it off.”

Tom shouts. “You fucking bitch! What is wrong with you? Get me out of here! Get this blindfold off of me so I can s-see your face.”

I giggle and playfully kiss the red mark on his bitten ear. “Aww, why? I thought you liked blindfolds.”

The tease makes him whine. I stand up and walk over to the machine across the room where the electrodes’ wires all lead up to and hit the switch. Tom’s body suddenly starts convulsing as electricity takes through him. He cries, God does he cry. It’s the most beautiful he’s ever sounded. I turn to walk upstairs and leave him struggling for the next few hours. Before I climb the stairs, I turn to the captured actor and smile.

"Welcome to the remainder of your miserable life, slave. If you ever think it can’t get worse, you’ll always be proven wrong. Just wait until my friends come over."

With that, I ascend the staircase and leave a crying, soiled Tom to writhe on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is trash but my other works are not! Please actually check out Idee Fixe & Darkness Lives Here if you're into this sorta thing.


	3. Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i should stop lol.

You didn’t plan on this, honestly, you didn’t. You thought you’d just meet him and take your picture and that would be the end of it. Never see him again, never touch him or take another picture with him. But he’s Tom Holland, so the two hundred dollar ticket just to spend a minute with him would be worth it. 

But then you got in line. You watched him meet hundreds of other people before you. Some young, some old, some pervy, some innocent. And with each and every single one of them he smiled. He beamed as if they were all his personal friends. The little liar.

It made you almost vengeful. Like watching a con artist sleaze his way into the arms of a banker. He smiled, he flirted, he winked, he hugged, and he lead them on. Every single person left his presence with a bright smile and tinted cheeks. They looked so happy you’d think he’d pulled them in close and nibbled at their ears while he ran his hands along their spines and whispered words so dirty he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Of course, he didn’t do any of that. But every single person he met walked away looking like he did. When it was finally your turn, who could blame you for “accidentally” coping a feel of his ass and “accidentally” swiping the key you felt in his back pocket. You got your picture, with you smiling the same “did Tom Holland just fuck me?” smile while he smirked, clearly annoyed but forcing a smile so he doesn’t get in trouble with whatever big-wig Disney asshole he’s probably being watched by.

Then you left and he went on leading on the other two hundred people in line after you. You didn’t think anything of the key in your pocket. Not until you sat on it later when grabbing lunch at the ridiculously overpriced kiosk at the convention center. You pulled it out and read the key’s handle, it was for a hotel only a few minutes walk from the convention. 

Any sane person in this situation would do what you did. All you did was get curious, it’s a human thing. So, you walked to the nearest Home Depot, which turned out to be a twenty minute drive away but the gas money would be worth it. You bought duct tape, some rope in case the tape didn’t hold, and some beer. You’d be needing it.

-

It turns out that Tom Holland doesn’t like walking with bodyguards if he doesn’t have to. So, after his drive from the convention to the hotel, he dismissed his guards when he was on his hotel floor. He walked, full of swagger and confidence, to his hotel room and shut the door.

You checked your watch; it’s only ten at night. He’d be sleeping soon enough, so doubt tired from his long day of lying to hundreds of people. He’d be so tired he wouldn’t notice the supplies you left under his bed or the beer you stored in his minifridge.

Once it was an acceptably late hour, one in the morning, you went in. No guards, no friends, no family, not even his stupid fucking dog was in the room. Typical idiot celebrity thinking they’re on top of the world. He lied there, sleeping peacefully on his lush five-star hotel bed. You almost chuckled out loud, if it were really a five-star hotel, there wouldn’t be an empty utility closet left unlocked that you hid in for the last four hours.

As your luck would have it, Tom Holland is a very heavy sleeper. It was beyond easy to reach under his bed and grab what you set out hours before. The stupid, blind celebrity. So dense he probably figured the random beer in his fridge was a gift from the hotel and not the leftovers of an obsessed fan about to rape him.

The duct tape had to go on his mouth first. The last thing you wanted was for Tom to scream and alert someone. He sleepily struggled but never awoke. You smiled, he looked a lot better when he was rendered speechless. You pulled the covers off of him and took in the visceral beauty of his body; cut, lean, small, pale, thining for God knows what stupid pretentious movie he’s filming now, and oh so fucking  _ pretty. _

You bind his arms behind him, first at the wrists with the rope, then at the elbows with the tape. It’s the last sound rip of tape on his elbows that wakes him up. He moans, confused and still tired. But the second his eyes face yours, illuminated by the end table lamp set on it’s lowest brightness, he screams. 

Poor thing doesn’t know the tape is covering his mouth. And you were greedy with it, wrapping it around his head at least three times so the fucker couldn’t wiggle his jaw out of it. He flails too, arms still tied behind him wiggle and stretch as much as they can in their binds. His legs kick at you but you sit on one and begin securing them together like his arms.

He cries. It’s beautiful. Better than any sound he’s ever made in a movie. It’s real and rough and he genuinely sounds  _ terrified.  _ You test the limits of his cries. A slap on the ass, grabbing his hair, digging your nails into his feet. Each produces a different cry, a different sound of agony and fear and humiliation.

He’s only wearing boxers. You mentally kick yourself for not ripping them off first to get a look at his cock before tying him. It can’t be helped. So you reach for the scissors to snip his boxers off of him.

“Hope these weren’t expensive. Because I don’t intend on paying you back for them,” you mock.

He cries, beautifully and raw. You continue cutting into the clothes until you can easily pull them off of him and toss them on the floor. His ass is just as gorgeous as you knew it would be, apple bottomed and smooth. You run your hand across it and hear Tom below you whine. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want it. I saw the way you looked at some of those people today at the meet and greet. Little slut.”

Tom doesn’t respond, not that he could to begin with. You continue abusing his ass, rough but not enough to cause permanent damage. But he cries like you’re burning him. The little crybaby. You slap his ass, harder than before.

“Are you seriously crying? I haven’t even gotten a look at your cock yet and you’re crying over me kneading your ass. Pathetic. Well, let’s see if your cock is as pathetic as your cries.”

You flip him over, he grunts as his bound arms and legs hit the opposite side of the bed. You see  _ it.  _ His cock, if you can even call it that. It’s shaven, uncircumcised, and tiny. He’s embarrassed by it, you can tell. You palm it, the entire thing - balls included, can fit into one hand. You openly laugh at him.

“Jesus Christ! This thing is fucking minuscule. No wonder you’ve never had any girlfriends. Who wants to say publicly they date the tiniest dicked celebrity on the planet?”

You smile at his weeping eyes and pink cheeks, embarrassed and scared. Clearly, his cock isn’t going to satisfy you. So, you turn him back around, slapping his ass even harder as you tell him what a shameful little cock he has.

His ass is ripe and red from the abuse. You part his cheeks with your fingers, causing a strangled growl to come out of Tom. He’s furious, terrified, and humiliated all at once. It’s a nice combination, especially when paired with staring at his pink, no doubt virgin, hole. 

You place your finger at his entrance. Tom jumps and tries screaming his way out of it but he should know by now that he can’t. You spit on the hole and slip your finger in. He moans, pained and scared. You’ll make him like it.

You suddenly push all the way in. He shouts but the tape holds back whatever he was going to say. You add another finger and another until you’re three fingers deep into the one and only Tom Holland. He cries and is clearly in pain, but you’re officially the only person who’s ever been inside of him. 

“As much as I’d like to shove my fist up your ass and wear you like a bracelet, I think we got bigger problems on our hands. How are you coming home with me?”

He’s caught off guard by the question. He’s quiet for a second until he realizes that you mean business. He thrashes, moans, grunts, and flails on the bed. You pull out of him and shove your dirty fingers into his face. He gags. It won’t be the first time he’ll have to see, smell or be near his own mess.

You get up from the bed and leave. Only for a moment, in order to grab the suitcase carts at the end of the hall. When you come back with the cart, Tom’s managed to find his way to the ground, making it halfway to the door.

You smile. “You just made this a lot easier. Now I don’t have to drag you onto the cart.”

Tom sobs beneath you. He looks too good to just leave like that. You figure he probably wants to speak, get a few curses at you before but he’s taken to his new life. So you lean down to grab the left end of the duct tape covering his mouth.

“No screaming or I’ll chop your pitiful dick off,” you warn before ripping off the tape.

He groans at first, then stares at you in shock and terror. His tears streak down his face and God this is better than anything a fucking movie can show. He sniffles and shakes his head, he’s so scared. It suits him better than any role ever could.

”_Please_, don’t. I-I have money, you can have it! Don’t *hurt* me. I can get you anything you want, anything!”

“I don’t want your fucking money. In fact … I think I have a better way you can pay me to let you go. Suck my dick.”

Tom sobs. “I … You’ll let me go if I do?”

“Sure, why not? I’ve had my fun with you.”

He’s still sobbing by the time you get him on his bound knees. You hold him by his head and force him into your crotch. You whip out your member, teasing the sobbing celebrity below you by slapping it across his face. He winces, this clearly is the first dick he’s sucked.

After a stern tug at the hair on the back of his neck, Tom’s latched onto your cock. He sucks and laps lazily at it for a few moments. You can only take so much before groaning and forcing all of you down his throat. He gags and tries to push out your cock with his tongue. The disobedience only makes you force fuck his throat harder.

You shove your cock down until you can’t see it at all. You thrust in and out of Tom’s open mouth, his stupid fucking frog lips curled into a frown as he’s forced to take all of you down in rapid succession. In and out, in and out. Your thrusts are rapid-fire and soon enough, Tom’s puking. You hurriedly push yourself away and watch as he vomits on his chest, bile spilling and throat constricting because of it.

“Nasty fucking slut. Stupid, too. Can’t even make me cum.”

You push him down, back to the hotel floor. He lands with a soft grunt, just inches away from his own vomit. You start ripping the sheets off of the bed as he dry heaves and spits on the floor.

“C-can … can you let me go now?” He asks.

You wrap the sheets over your arms and turn back to look when they’re all off.

“Are you serious? I didn’t even cum. And you technically didn’t even suck me off, I had to do all the work.”

You bring the sheets over to Tom still lying on the floor. You pull off the pillowcase of a pillow when his teary eyes meet yours.

“What’s that for?”

“Well,” you start. “This is most likely going over your head. To keep your quiet when I roll you out to my car.”

Tom’s confused, his no doubt tiny brain working at full speed. It takes him a moment, but in that time you’ve already grabbed the tape from the floor and start working it around his head again.

“But you said you’d let me g-!”

You tape his mouth before he can scream. He sobs and thrashes again, and you only meet his fear with nonchalantness. You pull the pillowcase over his head and add two more for safe measure. You wrap his body in the sheets and comforter of the hotel bed until Tom resembles a pile of laundry, not a captive man.

You heave him onto the cart. His grunt of pain is muffled from all of the fabric. Before grabbing your beer and bag of supplies, you lean down to speak directly into his covered ear.

“You’re going to be raped, you know. I figured you didn’t, seeing how dumb you are. Thought I should make it clear.”

You can faintly hear his sobbing. You wheel him into the hotel hall and no one suspects the hottest celebrity in Hollywood right now to be carted off to his inevitable rape, torture, and murder. 

At least this way he’ll never have to lie to fans again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill: Leave comments and kudos. (:


	4. Splinters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captive Tom is subjected to anal torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Rape

Tom’s been held captive for the last three months. He’s been forced to call the two women who force him his mistresses. Nee and Dee, supposed code names the two have for each other, have raped Tom mercilessly for months. On top of that, he’s been beaten, humiliated, and neglected. His sunken ribs and lax muscles tell how little he’s eaten, the bags under his eyes tell how little he’s slept, and the hundreds of bruises and welts across his body tell how disobedient he’s been.

Tom’s proven to be quite the fighter, resisting every single lesson and punishment until he’s brought to the point of near death. But his resolve is fading fast and he can’t take the extreme abuse anymore. His body physically is unable to withstand another one of the girls’ demeaning and cruel punishments. So, for the last few days, he’s tried his best at obeying. It makes him sick to his stomach to have to give in to these bitches, but he knows it’s either that or death.

He’s somehow proven to be obedient enough in the last few days to be allowed upstairs instead of in the dark basement. His first task is to clean the living and dining rooms of the girls’ small cabin. He has no idea where he is, not even what country. He can guess he’s somewhere in America, given by their accents, and that the cabin in hidden deep in thick woods. He’s never been good at geography or really any school subject, so he truly has no idea.

Tom ignores the fear of the unknown and tries to obey their orders. They’re simple; clean this, mop that, dust this, fold that. But he knows that nothing is truly ever simple with these psychopaths. There has to be some trick, he’s been bracing himself for it ever since he stepped foot on the first floor.

Nee points towards an old broom in the corner of the dining room. Tom follows her gaze and waits for instructions. He’s been here for three months, after all, he knows not to touch things without permission.

“Grab it and sweep the kitchen, dining room and living room. You have twenty minutes,” Nee barks before leaving the room.

Tom can only guess she retreats to a bedroom, he’s only been given permission to wander the kitchen, dining and living rooms freely. He walks over to grab the wooden broom and begins to sweep. He sighs in relief, this must be what they want after all. Just cleaning. No tricks. He’s thankful for the small moment of safety he has as he sweeps the kitchen first. Halfway through sweeping the dining room, he whines when the handle of the wooden broom pricks him. He holds out his hand to see a nasty looking splinter embedded into his palm. 

Tom tries going back to sweeping by trying to use only his fingers on the affected hand. But the splinter moves with every small touch and it hurts. He tries to pull it out with his teeth but the head has already been chipped off due to him continuing to sweep. Tom desperately tries to pry apart his flesh, but it’s no use. The splinter is stuck and he’ll need tweezers to pull it out.

Suddenly, one of the girl’s hands smacks him on the back of his head. Tom turns around to see Dee looking at him with a mean glare in her eye. He backs away slightly and bows his head. No eye contact, he remembers. 

“Why aren’t you sweeping?” Dee asks, but Tom knows it’s a demand.

Tom knows he can speak only when spoken to so he takes a deep breath before doing so. “I got a splinter.”

“So?” Says Dee.

Tom tries not to whimper. It’s not the first time one of the girls has denied him compassion. Sometimes, when he’s been good or needs to be taken care of after a severe punishment, one of them will coddle him and treat him like they aren’t heartless. But he knows he won’t get that treatment now. He bows his head even further, his eyes staring at the bristles of the broom laying near his bare feet.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he whispers.

Dee says nothing and leaves the room, presumably to the same area of the cabin that Nee disappeared to. Tom immediately tries to sweep again but the pain in his palm is great. He tries to bare through it and manages to nearly finish sweeping the dining room but he cries out in pain when the splinter is pushed further into his palm with an especially forceful sweep.

Tom’s noninjured hand flies to cover his mouth. One of the biggest rules is to not make a sound unless he’s told to respond or he’s being beaten. He hugs the handle of the broom in fear as he hears the footsteps of his captors near.

“What was that?” Nee shouts from the hallway.

Tom doesn’t look back, doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed or not so he stands still. 

“Let me see,” it’s Dee now, forcibly grabbing Tom’s hand and pulling it towards her.

Tom yelps from the pain as Dee unknowingly presses down right on the splinter. Nee is now beside her and also looks at the teen’s injury.

“I don’t see anything wrong,” Nee says.

Dee nods. “Yeah. Me either.”

And just like that the two turn away. Tom shakes his head in protest.

“Wait! Please help. I-It hurts and I can’t sweep like this! Please, I’ll still clean,” Tom cries and he knows immediately how poor of a decision that was.

The women eye him with sheer anger in their eyes and Tom bows his head submissively, not wanting to see their faces. It’s Nee who walks towards him and grabs both of his hands. Tom’s helpless as she forces him to hold the broom like one without an injury would. Tom screams in pain as his palm is forced to hold the handle, he drops the broom as he instinctively pulls his hand away.

Tom’s stomach flops when he sees the broom land on the floor in between him and Nee. Nee grabs a fistful of his hair and hurls him to the dining room floorboards. Tom whines as he’s thrown to the floor. Dee is kneeling in front of him, her thighs inches away from his head. He doesn’t meet her gaze, he doesn’t need another punishment. 

Nee’s hands are wrapped around the broom now and she sneers at the boy beneath her.

“If you can’t even hold a broom in your hands, then you’ll just have to hold it in your ass.”

Tom shudders. The thought of the broom itself being inserted inside of him isn’t what makes him cringe, he’s been raped for months now and knows he can take most anything the women throw at him up his ass. It’s the fact that the broom is so old and chipped that he could have splinters in  _ other  _ places.

“No!” Tom begs. “Please! I’m sorry, Mistress. I-I-I’ll be good, Mistress! Please, I promise!”

Tom knows it’s no use but he has to try to appeal to one of their cold, dead hearts. Dee’s hand slaps him across the face and he tears up from the sting. 

“You know better than to beg when you’re not told to. Stupid fucking slut, you get one day out of the basement and suddenly think you have rights,” Dee spits.

Tom shakes his head furiously. “No! I know, Mistress. I know I have no rights. I’m so sorry, please, please.”

Tom breaks down into sobs by the end. He’s helpless as he feels Nee position the broom handle against his exposed and abused hole. He lays on his back, trying to breathe through the sobs. Before he can catch his breath, the handle slams inside of him  _ hard.  _ Tom feels at least four inches ram inside of him in one sudden push. He screams.

Nee’s silent as she continues to rape Tom with the broom, her eyes only focusing on the pathetic way his hole begins to bleed from the chipped wood. Tom cries as he feels the handle digging into his rectum and giving him various splinters. But the torture doesn’t end there. Nee continues to ram the broom inside of him, with Dee holding his shoulders down.

Tom continues to sob as the handle is pushed into his ass. When he looks down, he can see the bristles much closer to his groin than before. He can feel the tip of the handle resting somewhere deep in his ass. Over a foot of the broom is inside of him now and Nee seems to have had enough. She stands up, Dee following her. But only to scoop the teen from the ground.

Tom helplessly cries on Nee’s shoulder as he’s carried back down the stairs into the familiar basement. He’s laid on the tattered, thin, dirty mattress he’s forced to call a bed. Both girls laugh at his pathetic form. Dee mockingly taps the bristles of the broom with her foot, causing the handle to move inside of Tom. He whines.

“Guess your day upstairs was short lived,” mocks Nee. 

Dee smirks. “Don’t worry, Tom. I’m sure you’ll learn how to be good soon. Hopefully those splinters give you some incentive.”

The pair head up the stairs and Tom cringes as he hears the large door slam shut and lock. Tom tries to move, even just to get more comfortable on the bed, but can’t. Each small movement makes the handle inside of him hit some sensitive, painful organ inside of him. The splinters inside of him are so unbearable that he forgets about the splinter in his palm.

Tom can only cry. He can’t keep getting hurt like this. He can’t live like this anymore. He knows he has to give in or else the pain will kill him one day, he knows it will. He doesn’t fall asleep. He just lays in agony, praying he’ll learn to be good soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm ashamed. Leave kudos and comments. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other work Darkness Lives Here, it's got stuff just like this but it's Starker. 
> 
> Thanks for not throwing up mid-read. (:


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